


Factions Dividing

by stilinskisoul



Series: Derek/Reader ficlets [3]
Category: Divergent Series - Veronica Roth, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jealousy, Kinda, Misunderstandings, POV Alternating, POV Derek Hale, POV reader, Pre-Divergent, also Derek has a thing for the Reader's hair, derek hale imagine, i bend rules, i made up my own rules instead, i warned you, just a little bit tho, on second thought maybe i added too much smut, the Reader and Stiles have a bff thing going on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 01:52:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5649385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinskisoul/pseuds/stilinskisoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek and the Reader are from the same faction, but the Reader transfers to another, so they end up being separated. On Visiting Day, though, they have a reunion, and since then on, they are inseparable.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <i>Unbeta'd, unfinished, but will probably continue it if there is demand for it.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Factions Dividing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bobisthestar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobisthestar/gifts).



> Although it was decided later on, I opted to dedicate this work for the sweet **bobisthestar** for all the awesome encouraging comments on all parts of this series. Once again, thank you for your kind thoughts!  <333

The Choosing Ceremony takes place tomorrow.

My leg is bouncing up and down against the floor in the classroom, and I am chewing on my nail beds. Stiles is sitting on my left, and he gives me a concerned look—I shake my head dismissively, refusing to explain to him what I feel. He knows it anyway; everyone’s future is going to be at stake tomorrow, and there is also a high probability that we will not see each other again. I can’t pay attention to the teacher, who is talking like there wasn’t anything important happening tomorrow.

I can’t help but involuntarily reminding myself that my faction disapproves of the one I am most interested in, calling them know-it-alls and noses. But I feel the same—I feel like I consciously have to pay attention to my mouth to prevent myself from correcting those who said something wrong or explaining something that I know the reason for. Instead of doing either of those, however, I go on a run to ease my mind a bit and forget about those thoughts for at least a short period of time.

Yes. I want to trade my black clothes for blue.

I especially hate the rule that forbids us to talk about the Choosing Ceremony now, because I feel like I will explode if I can’t talk about this with someone. But who would be so daring to break the rules? Even though it’s Dauntless we’re talking about, there’s no guarantee that any of them would be willing to talk to me.

If anyone did though, that would most likely be Stiles.

When the bell rings, the entirety of the class stands and, starting with the Dauntless, the pupils leave the classroom, albeit our faction opts to exit through the windows, not the doors, because that would be too causal and boring apparently.

I feel the eyes of the students from different factions on me as I follow the others out, jumping right after Stiles, after he somersaulted away from the spot he dropped to. It is almost a three-meter-high jump, but we were trained for these kinds of things.

We catch the train that takes us back to the compound of our faction. Jumping off the compartment, Stiles immediately follows me without a question, without a second thought.

“Hey,” he calls out. I don’t stop. He tries again, but I don’t budge. I weave my way across the maze of our compound, moving like my body was some kind of liquid between the body of others, avoiding contact with any of them. Stiles is still hot on my heels. Finally, I arrive to a more or less empty area, and I let out a deep breath. I lean back against the wall and bury my face in my hands. “Hey,” Stiles says, quietly this time. “You okay?”

I shake my head, “Not really.”

“Anxious about tomorrow?” he asks.

“What am I not anxious about?” I laugh nervously, gesturing toward myself. He shrugs.

“You know I have the same issue,” he says, matter-of-fact, and I nod. He is right—I am well aware that both he and I have to deal with certain disorders, so I am not the one to talk in this scenario. At least not the only one.

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry,” I say, giving him a small, apologetic smile. He just grins and pulls me in his embrace.

“Everything will be okay,” he says, but I can’t find it in myself to believe him. I have a bad feeling about all of this, like something is bound to go wrong. But the hug feels good nonetheless, so I reciprocate by wrapping my arms around his middle and pulling him close to me. I will miss him and the clothes, that is for sure.

“How do you feel about doing something interesting, for the last time?”

“For the last time?” I ask, looking up at him. He shrugs, but I can tell he is tense now, by the way his voice falters when he speaks to answer.

“Y-you know, just because it could be our last,” he says. “Nothing is a hundred percent sure until tomorrow night.”

I nod, “Fair enough.”

“So? A run?” he offers, and I grin at him. That is what we love doing, what we have always loved doing, with each other. I tap his arm, then take off from there, dashing fast toward the corner to turn on the left corridor which I know leads outdoors.

“Hey! Cheater,” he accuses, but laughs anyway. A second later, he is chasing me.

However, in the second turn, I am startled back when I hit something solid. When I look up, I see Four and Derek talking to each other. Both of them work in the control room, but while Derek is a full-time worker there, Four likes to train the initiates, so every year after the Choosing Ceremony, he abandons his place in front of his computer for the sake of helping out the newbies.

“Sorry,” I mutter, feeling anxious under their heavy gazes. None of them react, so I take that as my cue to back off. But before I could start running again, Derek says, “Careful tomorrow.”

And after that, Stiles jumps in my neck and we are out of there, he tugging me away.

“What did he tell you?” asks Stiles later, when we are sitting at the edge of a rooftop, our legs rocking back and forth above the dark abyss.

“To be careful tomorrow,” I say. Stiles hums. “Why?”

“He’s creepy and a loner,” he says, making me chuckle. “I honestly wouldn’t have thought he was capable of talking to others besides his co-workers in the control room, really.”

“Too arrogant?”

“That, he is,” he agrees, then wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me close to him. His body warmth is the most effective cure I have found for my anxiety and panic tendencies so far.

. o O o .

I sit in the reclining chair. As luck would have it, I got Four as the supervisor of my aptitude test. He instructs me to tilt my head to the side a bit, so that he can inject me with the fluorescent fluid. I do as I am told, and the next time I open my eyes, I can no longer see myself in the small room—instead, I find myself before two objects, and I am forced to choose one. There is a knife and a piece of meat.

Without thinking, I take the knife.

Before I could ask why I had to choose, the answer to my not-yet spoken question barks loudly, aggressively in front of me. I am startled back, but my fingers wrap around the handle of the knife strongly, surely. I don’t want to hurt any animal, even though it apparently has rabies—I don’t want to kill _anything_ without a pressing reason. I have always respected a life.

The dog keeps barking at me, and my mind is running a mile a minute. How else could I escape this situation? How else—

Then it clicks.

_Chemosignals._

I take some deep, evening breaths to calm myself down. What is the sign of submission in nature? You have to kneel down, make sure you are lower than the animal, and bare your neck. Wolves in the pack always express their submission to the Alpha by baring their neck. And that is exactly what I do right now.

When I look up, the dog is now sitting in front of me, harmless. I smile delightedly and drop the knife so that I can pet it with both of my hands. I can barely touch its fur when suddenly it stands on its neck as it growls at something. I turn to see what it is only to notice in horror, that it is a little girl.

The dog launches at her, and immediately I take action, too. I shove myself at the dog to try and hold it down, ignoring how many scratches I am going to have after. That girl is too young to die, to be torn to pieces by a rabid dog.

I shut my eyes tightly, which is why it surprises me when suddenly everything stops.

I can feel soft shaking, like I am travelling by the train. There are noises of the metal wheels turning rapidly on the rails. I open my eyes and sit up, taking a look around. The first thing I do is check if the knife is still here, but it’s gone. I shrug, and decide to just adjust to the new environment anyway. I stand and grab one of the poles to help myself keep my balance.

I notice a newspaper in someone’s hand, and catch a glimpse of a picture, which was taken of a murderer, but before I could inspect it any further, someone grabs my shoulder and declares that he will die if won’t help him. He asks for something he knows I must be capable of doing, but I refuse to help anyway—I don’t know him, and for all I know, _he_ could be lying to me.

I gasp as I launch forward on the chair, eyes wide and breathing heavily.

Four touches my shoulder. When I look at him, he gives me a concerned look. I open my mouth to speak, but I find my mouth dry, so try swallowing a few times before I ask him, “What’s the result?”

He purses his lips and shakes his head.

“What is my result?” I ask again, this time more demanding. I have the right to know my result! He shakes his head again, typing away on the computer before him.

“Inconclusive,” he says finally, and I am sure the blood rushes out of my face. What does he mean? Why is it inconclusive? It should tell me which faction I belong to the most. No matter how much I want to know the answer to those, I don’t ask anything. Thankfully, he has the grace to explain it to me, understanding my perplexity, which I am sure is pretty obvious. “You can’t tell anyone about the results,” he says sternly, with a touch of commanding tone in his low voice. Four looks strict as he turns the screen toward me.

There, I can see the results—I got Erudite, Abnegation and Dauntless. I look up at Four with what I think is a desperate expression.

“What is wrong with me?” I ask, but my voice is barely above a whisper.

“I am going to register Dauntless for you,” he says instead of giving me a direct answer. Or any kind of answer at all.

“But why was it inconclusive?” I demand again, and he has to shush me.

“I said do _not_ tell anyone!” he scolds me, suddenly looking furious. “And by anyone, I mean you can’t even let your parents know about this.”

“But what is ‘ _this_ ’?” I ask, gesturing between me and the general direction of the computer. He gives my face a thorough once-over, like he is weighing whether I am trustworthy enough to be told a huge secret. In the end, he leans close, his voice barely above a whisper as he says, “Divergent.”

I resist asking what that means. He goes on.

“Divergent are those who cannot be forced starkly into either of the factions, because they have more characteristics, they are more complex than to be forced to live with one lifestyle for the rest of their lives.”

My mouth has fallen open at some point, so I quickly click it shut.

“That’s true,” I say, merely breathing out the words. He nods.

“Of course it is,” he agrees, then waves for me to get out of the seat. How nice of him.

Without making a comment, I just do as he told me, and leave the room through the door that is opposite to the one I entered.

. o O o .

Back at the Dauntless compound, Stiles finds me by the chasm. He sits next to me, nudging his shoulder to mine. I can’t find it in me to give him a smile, but apparently he feels the same, too. It gets me concerned.

“What happened?”

“What did you get as a result?” he asks back instead of answering. I blink at him, puzzled at his straightforwardness. I would say that we are not allowed to talk about our results, but my ability to follow the rules blindly is another thing I have lost at some point today. I stand and beckon him to follow me, which he does.

We leave the compound and run to the abandoned part of the city, which is full of detritus and consists of remnants of ruined buildings. We enter through a huge hole in one of the walls, my shoes shuffling through a mixture of ash, dust and rubble. We wander around for a short while—Stiles and I love to try puzzling out mysteries that we come across, and right now we try to imagine all the scenarios that have taken place here to try and rationalize why this house looks the way it is now. For some reason, this calms us down, somehow.

But soon I have to admit that at the moment my mind is incapable of focusing, because there are more pressing issues to talk about. The second I realize this is also when it clicks that Stiles hasn't brought it up yet because he was considerate enough to give me time to think.

“What were your results?” I am the one asking it now. I can hear him shuffling through the mess on the floor behind me somewhere.

“Inconclusive,” he says, voice weak and quiet. I turn to stare at him, wide-eyed. “Hey, don’t give me _that_ look!”

“What look?”

“The ‘you-are-definitely-not-normal’ look!”

“This isn’t that look!” I hedge, but then I realize how unsure he is—I am unsure too, and feel like the ground has been pulled out from under me, especially because we are _especially_ forbidden to share our results with anyone, because it is such a powerful information that it could easily get us killed. “I got the same,” I say finally, slowly. This time it’s his turn to look at me with a surprised expression. “Four was the one to supervise my aptitude test,” I continue. “and he said he registered Dauntless for me.”

“What did you get?” he asks, walking closer. I mirror him.

“Erudite, Abnegation and Dauntless,” I answer. “You?”

“Exactly the same,” he says, grinning now. I know that the only reason he can smile right now is the fact that he has always been convinced that he and I are two of one soul, like a boy and a girl reincarnation of the exact same person, but in one dimension of time. And now in his terms, his theory of that has been proved. “I shamelessly lied to the guy on the train.”

“Me too,” I giggle, and when he raises his hand up, I give him a high-five without thinking. “So,” I start, not letting go of his hand. “Which faction will you choose?”

He squeezes my hand.

“Erudite,” he says. “You?” I think his fingers has just curled around my hand a touch stronger than before.

“Same,” I say, giving him a small smile.

. o O o .

The next day, the first thing I do is walking by the net, acting as though I am there out of casual coincidence, and not because I am looking for someone. No matter how much I am suggesting the slowly growing group in the darkness where Four is helping the initiates out of the net, I can’t see who I expect to see the most.

I go back to the control room, figuring I can check tomorrow, too.

But she isn’t there at any of the trainings, and when I talk to Four about it, he tells me her test was inconclusive and that she has chosen Erudite.

The worst combination ever—a Divergent at Erudite? It’s the same as if a serial killer started working in cooperation with the law enforcement to help them catch himself. I want to protect her, but I can’t do that, not from here, not from so far away. What if I will never see her again? What if they kill her? I stayed at Dauntless because I didn’t want to be close to those who want me dead.

I go to the training room and punch the heavy leather bag hanging from the ceiling until all my knuckles are numb and I can’t feel anything with my hands.

. o O o .

On Visiting Day, three years later, I spot Four and Derek among the Dauntless. Not soon after I noticed them, they notice me too—Four glimpses me, and he nudges Derek’s shoulder with his fist to get his attention. When Derek looks at him, he nods towards me and, following Four’s instructions, Derek’s gaze finds me, finds mine and locks with it.

Without breaking eye contact, he excuses himself and starts walking toward me, determined and apparently unstoppable. I wait for him, but only outwardly patiently, because my heart is beating wildly in my chest. I have wanted to ask him why he told me to be wary on the day of my aptitude test, but haven’t gotten around to do it yet.

I am already opening my mouth to talk to him, but he cuts me off by placing his broad, calloused palm on my waist and leads me away from there.

“Where are we going?” I ask him, but all I get back is a vague, “To somewhere less crowded.”

I figure I won’t be able to squeeze out any more information from him, so I allow him to walk me wherever he wants to. The ‘less crowded’ place in his mind was apparently equal with his personal apartment in the compound. He opens the door for me and indicates I enter first, but I turn to face him instead.

“Why did you take me here?” I ask, my voice just this side of accusing.

“I will tell you as soon as you’re already inside,” he says and, leaving room for no budges nor excuses, grabs my hips and with a swift motion, lifts me up to take me to his room. He closes the door behind his back with a lock. I take a few steps back, my dark blue high-heels clicking on the floor. “Why did you choose Erudite?” he asks by way of a start.

“I expected an explanation, not more questions,” I retort.

“Answer it,” he demands, taking a few steps closer to me. I shrug.

“I wanted to be where I belong to.”

“Your result was Dauntless,” he says confidently.

“How do you know about that?” he shrugs.

“I work in the control room,” Derek says. “It’s not as hard to hack into the systems as some of the Erudite like to think.”

“Why did you check on it anyway?”

“I had a theory of you,” he says, the words easily rolling off of his tongue.

“Theory?”

“That you may be different,” he says. “From the rest of the others.”

I can’t help but pay attention to his choice of words—“different”, “others”; he makes me feel like he knows _exactly_ what I am. I take a step back, like a prey does in front of a predator.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, figuring my best bet is to act ignorant. He doesn’t buy it, though.

“You know exactly what I am talking about,” he says, confident. “Four explained it to you when your test result was inconclusive.”

I am sure all the blood flows out of my face at that. My knees nearly give out. I did a little research on ‘Divergent’ in the past three years, but I was wary—I am not stupid enough to go against the advice—no, _order_ —Four gave me so seriously. Like he was honestly concerned with my well-being, even though he had no idea who I was.

“Does anyone know about it?” he asks, voice tight and eyes furious. I shake my head slowly, my body on the verge of shaking, however, I refuse to allow that to happen. I am a former Dauntless, hence I will not show any hint of fear. I am proud of my roots, besides, I am part Dauntless still, among Abnegation and Erudite. Derek’s posture suddenly slumps—I didn’t even realize how tense he was, how strained all his muscles were before my answer. He breathes out, “Thank God”.

I don’t understand.

“Why did you say that?” I ask, arching an eyebrow. He looks at me and I feel like his greenish hazel gaze is burning holes into my skin. “You don’t even know me,” I continue. Derek shakes his head.

“No,” he says. At first I think he agrees with me, but when he continues, it becomes clear to the me that he is fact disagreed. “I _do_ know you,” he says. “At least did, before you left,” he corrects.

“How—? Why?” I can’t form a complete sentence, being at a loss of words. Derek shoots me a smile—small, lopsided, but incredibly him.

“I told you I had a theory of you,” he reminds me. “and I had to keep an eye on you in order to prove it to myself.” I blush, I am certain about that. If his widening smile is any indication, the redness on my cheeks indeed deepened. “I realized you might be more than Dauntless by your tendency to help everyone selflessly who was needy or helpless. Then your love for books came. I frequently noticed you reading in hidden corners; you always found time to steal away for those stacks of papers.”

“Guess I wasn’t subtle enough,” I say sardonically. He shakes his head.

“You were,” he assures. “I’m just observant.”

“Stiles was right about you,” I say suddenly, and at the mention of Stiles’ name, Derek’s eyes widen. “You _are_ arrogant.”

Derek’s lips tug up in a mocking smile.

“Oh yeah,” he nods, crossing his arms over his chest. “your _boyfriend_ ,” Derek nearly spits out the word. “Almost forgot about him. He’s also Erudite now, right?”

Instead of answering, I mimic him by crossing my arms also.

“Boyfriend?” I exclaim. “Stiles is like a _brother_ to me, I could never get intimate with him, that would feel like incest!” That piece of information seems to throw him for a loop.

“What?”

“You heard me,” I speak, slowly. “I could never get intimate with him. He’s like a brother to me, and he’s certain we were meant to be born twins, but ended up only friends. Best friends, that is,” I correct. “If you won’t believe me, go and ask him yourself, he’s here with me.” Derek shakes his head, letting his arms down.

“No,” he says. “I believe you.”

“Good,” I say, sternly. I nod toward the door. “Can we go now?”

“No,” Derek says again.

“What else do you want to talk to me about? I thought it was just about—”

The rest of my sentence is forced back into me, because he kisses me with intent and fervour. I gasp in surprise, and I can feel a hint of his tongue touching my lips, but I break the contact only to drive my right fist toward his face.

He catches my hand easily, without much of an effort. I react fast, though, and attempt to kick him with my knee. He snickers, and releases me. I try to hit his face again to wipe that smile off of it, but Derek is faster again, so this time is no different from the previous one.

But unlike before, Derek now not only catches my forearm, but also shuts it between his pectorals and arm like a vise, and turns so that I end up laying on the ground. I yelp when my back hits the floor. When I open my eyes, I find myself face to face with Derek, noses mere inches away from each other. We are sharing the same breath. Both of ours us elevated—mine because I am not used to fighting any more, and his…

There is a beat of silence between us, then he crashes his lips to mine—this time, I yield for him, and I tilt my head to the side to allow him better access.

I don’t even know why I am letting him do this, because I am not like this—I am not someone who would let a stranger kiss her and pin her to a flat surface awhile, but for some reason it is different with Derek. Not only because he has just confessed to having been trying to protect me, but also because I have just realized I have been attracted to him all along.

His lips part from mine and he gasps, “I thought about the future so much,” he admits between kisses on my neck and jaw. “Thought about you and I working together in the control room, living together, spending our time together, helping each other out with our work… protecting each other…” he whispers. “Then you ruined my visions of the two of us,” he finishes, this time in a somewhat harsher tone, and bites the crook of my neck. I gasp, loudly. “I was insanely furious at you at first.” I make a small noise in the back of my throat, but it dies as fast as it was born.

“I-I didn’t know,” I manage to squeeze out the words between gasps and pants and heavy intakes of air. I couldn’t think of a smarter thing to say.

“Of course,” he says, his hands trailing down on my sides, settling on my hips. “I didn’t want you to.”

“Why?” I put my hands on his chest and push him away just a bit, so that I am face to face with him once more. He shrugs.

“I didn’t want to influence your choice,” he says, voice small, quiet. “I just hoped you’d stay here.” My heart clenches in my chest.

“If you… if only I had known…”

“You’d have stayed?” he asks with a gentle smile on his lips. He strokes his thumbs over my skin that’s peeking out between the shirt and the skirt. I nod. “Why?”

“You were not the only one who kept an eye on the other,” I say. “I did the same to you. I knew who you were. But it wasn’t because I had any intentions of protecting you, but because you seemed capable, mysterious and someone with common sense, and that piqued my interest. I knew you started working in the control room, and I adored that.” He grins at me.

“Sounds to me like you fell in love with your mind first,” he chuckles. “Like an Erudite.”

‘Divergent,’ I want to correct him, but refrain from doing so. Instead, I just smile at him.

“And how has life been?” he asks, pushing himself off of me. He sticks a hand in my direction to help me up. I accept it, and when I am standing steadily, I tuck the shirt back into the skirt, then fix the suit jacket over it and brush it off a bit. I look around, searching for a mirror to redo my hair, because I can be sure that my previously perfect bun has gone messy.

My gaze stumbles into Derek’s, and I can see him fixing me with an amused expression accompanied by a smile.

“What?” I ask.

“You changed a lot,” he points out. I acknowledge it with a nod. I don’t try to deny it—I know exactly how much I have changed during the past three years.

“I know,” I say in the end. He snickers, and I realize my answer was a stereotypical Erudite answer. I smile, too.

He takes a step closer.

“I like your hair better this way,” he says, apparently already having figured out I want to make my hair. “It’s wilder and you look less restrained like this.” I can feel the remainder part of the sentence, that has been left unsaid, ‘You look more like the girl who was member of Dauntless years ago’.

I can’t help my smile, though. I reach up to my head and pull out the pin that has been holding my hair, and let it all fall down on my shoulders, its length covering half of my back. If I am not imagining things, Derek’s nostrils flared, his pupils dilated, and his lips parted. I shiver under his intense gaze.

Derek seems to shake himself awake seconds later, then cocks his head in the direction of an ajar door. When I approach it, I realize it’s the bathroom. I stand in front of the mirror. I inspect my reflection—it has dishevelled hair, abused red lips and carries bite marks on the side of her neck. I am sure they are going to turn into colourful hickeys by tomorrow.

I can see in my peripheral vision Derek appearing at the doorway. He has his arms crossed over his chest again, and he is leaning against the door frame with his shoulder, eyes firmly trained on me. If I am not mistaken, he looks hungry—especially with his still blown pupils.

“When will you leave?” he asks.

“How much time do I have left?” he shrugs.

“A couple hours. Until the end of the day, I guess. It’s called Visiting _Day_ for a reason after all,” he says with a shrug. I grin at his reasoning.

“Fair enough,” I smile at him through the mirror, but he only reciprocates it for a fraction of a second. I quit trying to put my hair in a bun instantly. “Something wrong?” Derek’s eyes flash at me.

“ _Of course_ something is wrong!” he snaps, approaching me. I turn, so by the time he crosses the small area with two steps, we are standing face to face with each other. His palms find my hips once more, their warmth seeping through the blue fabric. “I finally have the girl I want where I want her to be, and she has to leave soon.”

I smile up at him apologetically, and touch his cheek with a hand.

“I will come back.”

“After a year, yeah,” he sneers.

“I will find a way for the two of us to be in touch. With permission, we can visit beyond the annual Visiting Days, too.” Derek purses his lips.

“But they will require a very good reason to let any of us visit another faction,” he points out.

“We will be in touch,” I promise him. “You work in the control room, and I’m constantly among computers, so it won’t be hard for me to find one to use.” He arches a brow as he gives me a questioning look.

“You want us to chat through the computers?” I nod.

“We can manage that, can’t we?” I ask. Derek thinks of it for a few moments, looking to the side and his fingers unconsciously flexing on my hips. Their involuntary moving is slowly conjuring out the shirt again, but I am not intend to warn Derek about that—I don’t mind it at much as I probably should.

“We can,” he ends up saying. “But I will have to hack the system first just a little bit.”

I chuckle, then, moving my hand from his cheek to the back of his neck, I pull him in for another kiss. He automatically reciprocates and pushes his body flush to mine, back against the sink.

“I don’t want you to leave yet,” Derek whispers into my mouth, locking gazes with me. “Not yet.”

“Yet?” I ask, not understanding what he wants to do before I leave. He nods and makes a noise—it comes from the back of his throat in the form of a guttural groan. His pupils are still insanely blown, so much that there is hardly any space left for his irises. The colour of his eye is nearly fully squeezed out by the huge black void in the middle. He hums in agreement.

“I need to know you are mine,” he whispers, and that urges out a noise from me, too. This is probably among the hottest things anyone has ever said to me.

“Okay,” I agree, without really knowing what he actually wants to do to settle that.

The next thing I know is that his fingers flex on my hips and he hauls me away from the sink and hikes me up in his hands, apparently only to carry me out in bridal style. My arms immediately wrap around his neck to hold myself there, but his grip on me is steady and sure, strong. Not crushing, but tight enough that I get the feeling he never wants to let me go.

He bends down a bit, only to climb a bit up the bed, then he softly drops me down on it and leans above me.

“I want to do this before you go away again,” he says. My throat sinks at his words, so I just reel him in for a kiss. My pin is long forgotten somewhere in his bathroom, so my hair is freely waving everywhere, curling around Derek’s fingers as he rakes them through my strands or brings his hand up to touch my scalp and hold my head in place as he tilts his head to kiss me with intent.

I open my mouth for him, and he slides his tongue into mine, our bundles of muscles and nerves wrestling with each other wildly, just like two Dauntless-born would do. I recline myself on the mattress, pulling Derek with me, who follows me enthusiastically, but only after he took off his black wife beater.

His hands find my thighs and slowly slide upwards, like a sweet tease, pulling my skirt up along with them. As soon as I can spread my legs more freely, I do—I bracket his hips between my legs, and Derek’s answer to this is to roll his hips against mine, making me groan and my eyes to roll back into my head. I tilt my head back and arch my back—all the while, Derek keeps up his gentle, but cruelly arousing ministrations.

“You have no idea how much I want to _tear_ these clothes off you,” he whispers sinfully into my ear. My nails scrape along his shoulder blades, and he growls at the pain, pushing his pelvis into mine harder, more aggressively.

Instead of going along with his suggestion, he more or less patiently unbuttons the jacket and the shirt too, but there is no gentleness in the way he grabs my upper body and hauls me up into a sitting position to dispose of the clothes. I faintly register that they land on the floor somewhere, but I honestly can’t bring myself to care where they are right now—all I want is for Derek to finally _do_ it, mark me up as his, claim me and never _ever_ let go of me.

“Shit, you’re way hotter than how I imagined you,” he admits with his mouth over my sternum. My fingers tangle in his dark hair, and when he looks up at me, the only thing I can see in his darkened eyes is lust, want and basic need.

“You imagined me?” I ask, teasing. I arch a brow and smile down at him. He reciprocates with an attractive lopsided smile on his own.

“You have no idea how many times,” he says as though we were talking about the weather. I can’t help either the moan nor the shiver that erupts from my body, goosebumps forming all over my skin. I can hear Derek chuckling. “Surprised you?”

“Eager, huh?” I ask instead of giving an answer. Apparently Derek loves to get reactions out of me, because he climbs back up to my face so our heads are level with each other, and whispers softly into my ear in a low voice, “Let me show you how eager I am.”

And with that, he pulls my panties down in one swift motion, leaving the skirt on me, however.

“Shit,” he rasps when he discovers _how_ ready I am already.

“Don’t wait,” I plead, reaching out to unbuckle his belt. “Do it. I want it. _Now_.” While I am busy with that, he reaches for his night stand to pull out a condom from one of its drawers, mumbling “ _Holy shit_ , (Y/N)”. By the time I free him, he has the condom ready, and he rolls it on.

Derek doesn’t hesitate to slide his palms along my inner thighs and spread my legs even further. I instinctively close them around his middle, which he approves of with a groan, then starts pushing in. On their own accord, my nails dig into his skin, leaving waning moon shapes there—he hisses out in pain and arches his back, causing him to bottom out in a fraction of a second, forcing my body up a few inches on the bed.

I don’t mind.

It doesn’t take me too long to realize I like it rough, so I start egging Derek on, asking him to go harder, faster, the way he wants to, and he willingly obliges. I thank him with a series of loud moans and repeating his name like a mantra in a high-pitched tone, like I am about to shatter to pieces.

Derek has his mouth open over the crook of my neck, merely one or two inches away from it, but soon his teeth push against my skin and latch on to it. I cry out loudly, but in pleasure, and tilt my head to the side to give him better access. He is driving me insane—I tell him as much, and Derek answers by snapping his hips, hard. He keeps that rhythm up for about a minute before he switches to slower, but more thorough drags and thrusts.

For the time being, he grabs my legs again and moves them so that they are hiked over his broad shoulders, and the angle is better now, allowing him deeper into me, and I honestly cannot contain my voice any longer. Hands grabbing the bedpost, back arching, toes curling, ankles crossing, eyes shutting tight, I scream his name as I cum.

Derek doesn’t take long to follow suit after, moaning out my name.

He rests his forehead against mine, and we are sharing the same breath of air once again. When I open my eyes, I find him looking at me already. He smiles at me before cocking his head to the side to give me a languid, filthy kiss. As though he was testing waters, he moves his hips in me a few times, making me groan into his mouth, which he apparently loves. He enjoys every touch, every sound, every smell… _everything_ I can give to him. And I will.

He pulls out then, and throws the used condom in the bin next to his drawer after tying it shut. He turns back to face me, and helps me move my legs off of his shoulders. I bracket his hips between them again, holding him tightly that way.

We stay in bed—after a handful of minutes, Derek moves to lay next to me. Our legs are tangled together, my head is resting on his chest and his fingers are playing with my white bra that hasn’t been taken off since I put it on this morning. Derek’s other hand is supporting his head as it is resting between his nape and the bedpost.

“I don’t want you to go,” he whispers. I am doodling imaginary figures on his pectorals with my index finger as I shake my head and whisper back, “I don’t want to.”

His fingers quit playing with my bra and curl around my upper arm, holding me tightly and pulling me even closer to his side. He turns his head to give me a kiss on my damp forehead before turning in the opposite direction to check the digital clock on his night stand. It is showing 07:32 PM.

He doesn’t have to tell me to know that the people from foreign factions are leaving at 8 PM sharp. My heart clenches at the thought, and I have to squeeze my eyes closed forcefully to fight back the tears that are _demanding_ to escape from there.

“I should have stayed here,” I say, voice small and weak. Derek doesn’t answer. I can only feel him breathing by how his ribcage is ascending and descending.

“You can be here several days a week, though,” he says abruptly, and I look up at him with an expression that is a mixture of surprised, curious and expectant. He continues, “Easy. You need to request a transfer here as one of the medicals who work at Dauntless. Erudite provide the doctors too, after all.”

“So that whenever someone is seriously injured, I will be bound to come here,” I finish his thought process. He smiles at me. “But please be gentle while maiming the others,” I add, and my comment makes him laugh—loudly, freely. It lifts my spirits. Maybe it will be easier to leave him like this.

Maybe.

Five minutes before due time, we kiss for the last time at his doorway, with Derek pinning me against the door and not letting me breathe for at least three minutes.

I leave my hair the way it is; messy and wild-looking.

My hairpin is still laying somewhere in Derek’s bathroom, forgotten.

. o O o .

The next day, the first thing I do is requesting my transfer to Dauntless as a medical. I am told that it may take about a week for it to be settled, then a middle-aged woman at the registry hands me over a print to fill in to make my request official.

I finish with it quickly, then after handing it back, I go to the library to refresh my knowledge about human anatomy. I want to be a chemist and a doctor anyway, so this job at the Dauntless will be perfect for me. It is also a great way to cover for me and not to attract other people’s attention to me as to why I opted to go back to my old faction—it shouldn’t be suspicious to want to work in my field of science.

Stiles joins me at the desk with a book on his won, and smiles at me. I reciprocate, and he opens up the lid of the book.

“You disappeared yesterday,” he says in a hushed voice. “Did something happen?”

I shake my head. Stiles gives me a look.

“What?”

“Do I really have to remind you that we’ve been best friends since freaking nursery? I know a lie when you say it.”

I let out a breath, and he looks at me expectantly. I stand, and Stiles immediately follows suit, understanding it is going to be something I won’t want anyone to hear. We put the books back to their original places, then walk out of the library, to the field.

The Sun is beaming down at the vividly green grass. Its warmth seeps through my clothes, just how Derek’s did. The memory equally makes my heart flutter and sink.

Stiles and I walk far away from the glassy building, to a dark wooden statue that has a bench preserved under it. We are hidden here from the curious prying eyes. We sit next to each other and he takes my hand, giving it a small squeeze. As I look at his face, he smiles at me meekly.

“I…” I start, but bite my lip. I am unsure how to continue, how to share what happened yesterday with him. “I… met Derek. At the Visiting Day,” I say finally. Stiles’ eyes widen in surprise.

“ _The_ Derek? _That_ Derek? Derek as in Derek _Hale_?” Wordlessly, I nod. “And? What happened?” I blush again, and Stiles is starting to get the idea. “You—?” I nod. “With _him_?” I nod again. “Wow, I—” he says, apparently searching for appropriate words. “I wasn’t expecting that,” he ends up saying. After a beat of silence, he asks, “And how was it? How did it happen? Was he any good? Did he treat you well? How long have the two of you been—?”

“Yesterday,” I cut him off. His face remained like it was mid-sentence, so he is now staring at me with an agape mouth. I am glad for his consideration; that he doesn’t comment on Derek’s identity, just accepts it and goes with the flow, acting like the best friend he is, asking questions and worrying for my well-being. “Since yesterday. Yesterday was the first time, and today I signed in to be a paramedic at Dauntless.”

“So,” he starts, voice small now. “When will _I_ be seeing you, then?”

“I will have to come back frequently, besides, I won’t be the only medical there. I'm guessing I’ll be spending five-day-long periods there; five days there and two here.”

Stiles grimaces and makes a disapproving face. My heart contracts again, and in an attempt to ease the suddenly heavy atmosphere, I say, “Derek has believe during all these years that you and I are together, by the way.” That earns me an honest laugh from Stiles, full on teeth and head tilted back.

“Okay, that was a good one,” he chuckles.

“I also told him you called him arrogant.”

“And his face…?”

“…was stunned,” I finish, and it just makes him grin wider. I love seeing him like this. We chat for a little longer, then we both go home. Today, Stiles’ future came up, too.

. o O o .

“So you’re ditching me for those juvenile louts?”

Stiles is standing in my doorway, arms folded over his chest, fixing me with an expectant look, watching me as I am packing some clothes—I deliberately try to take the least possible amount of blue stuff with me, so that I will conceal my origin better. I am planning to wear one small piece of blue ornament everyday, but otherwise be in black to blend in better.

I got an e-mail about my request for transfer a day ago—it contained details of what I am going to have to do there, what I should expect, the length of periods that I am going to be spending there and my accommodation. However, I refused the latter, figuring Derek would want me to live with him anyway.

I close the lid on my dark blue suitcase, and zip it closed.

“Temporarily,” I answer finally. Stiles shoots me a sad smile, then opens up his arms, offering a hug wordlessly. I immediately allow him to close me in his embrace, and reciprocate it by wrapping my arms around his middle and pulling him in tightly.

“I’m gonna miss you,” he whispers into my hair at the top of my head. I nod, and bury my nose in his chest, my forehead resting against the crook of his neck—Stiles is about as tall as Derek, and I am a lot shorter than them. I kiss him over his heart.

“Me, too,” I answer, also in a hushed voice, afraid that if I am not quiet, the serenity between us will be shattered by me talking too harshly.

Stiles sees me out of my flat, and to the ground where the taxi is already waiting for me. He loads my suitcase into the trunk, then kisses my forehead and, after a short consideration, my cheek too. I sit in, Stiles closes the door, waves for me as the cab is backing up from the parking lot, then after a sharp turn to the left, we can no longer see each other.

. o O o .

The Dauntless compound is still just as hard to approach as it has always been. Since I can’t get in through the route those taking part in the initiation process always take, I have no other choice but to go upfront, only to be stopped by the two guards who are standing at the entrance. One of them puts his hand up, palm out, to stop me.

Without saying anything, I hand him the certificate of my fresh job here as a medical, then after a curt nod, he steps aside to let me in.

“Wear your card from now on,” he adds, then closes the door behind me. My suitcase is rattling behind me as I move forward, and this is the first time I am unsure of what to do first—find Derek or go to his apartment? He is probably at work, and it is forbidden to disturb those during their shift who work in intelligence.

In the end, I settle with going to his flat first.

On my way, I keep getting looks from the Dauntless, everyone obviously staring at me—probably to make me feel anxious—but I try to ignore them. Once I used to be a member of their faction, and just because I chose one they don’t fancy, doesn't mean they can have power over me. I am here to help them anyway.

I know exactly that Derek’s loft is at a privileged place, just like everyone’s who work at the control room—hence the gradually more disapproving looks as I get closer to my destination. I try to ignore them as best as I can.

Once there, I knock on the door tentatively, but I get no answer. I try the handle, but the door is locked. I let out an exasperated sigh. Of course something like this is bound to happen with me, of all people. This is still _my_ life, after all. The only thing I can be glad for, though, is that this area is pretty much deserted, save for those who live here, so it will be okay if I sit and wait here for Derek to arrive.

He doesn’t make me wait for too long. Not twenty minutes later, I can hear his voice, muffled, coming from far away as it is echoing among the walls, but something is not okay. I frown, but instead of acting on it, I decide to wait until I can see it with my eyes too, just to be sure.

In about half a minute, Derek turns at the corner, and the evidence I was anticipating is following him right away. None of them has noticed me yet, so I reach for the handle of my suitcase to lift it and go to another floor until they are no longer out here. I must have been making too many noises, because just as I am turning in the corner, Derek’s voice calls out, “(Y/N)?”

I ignore him, and I can hear him apologizing and running after me, but I have no intentions of stopping. I can’t get far away enough, though, before he reaches me.

“Don’t touch me,” I snap, shrugging his hand off of me.

“You misunderstood, she works with me and—”

“Sure,” I agree, mocking, deliberately avoiding eye contact. I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m sure you normally take all of your colleagues to your flat.”

“No, but—”

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” I nod, grabbing my suitcase again and trying to walk away, between the wall and him, but Derek is not the type to leave things unsolved; he grabs my arm to stop me.

“Hear me out,” he says, voice commanding, but at the same time, pleading.

“I hope you’re not delusional to think I would want to listen to your explanation,” I say sternly, giving him a strict look. He shakes his head.

“And I genuinely hope you’re not delusional to think I would just let you walk away so easily after finally being with you,” he retorts back. Then, without any warning, he turns around and makes a beeline for his apartment, tugging me along, no matter how much I am trashing in his grip. He practically shoves me through the door, much harsher than he did last time, then closes it—I can hear the lock clicking shut.

He looks at me, “She is my colleague, yes, and I don’t take everyone here, but you have to know that she is new at intelligence, and needed some help. The others told her to come to me, because I’m really good at my job, but I needed a pendrive from my flat. I told her to wait for me at the computer room, but she tagged along anyway.”

I not only read about signs of a potential lie, but also made friends with a girl called Lydia, who transferred to Erudite from Candor, and told me how to spot a lie for sure. And according to those two sources of information, Derek was telling the truth.

I can see a nerve jumping at his temple as he is worrying his jaw nervously, however, not because he lied, but because he is afraid I may decide not to believe him and leave him for good. I exhale a long breath. Along with it, my shoulders slump and I realize how tense I have been the whole time.

I shake my head, “Okay.”

Derek’s eyes widen, and he takes a step closer to me, leaving the door unprotected, so if I wanted to escape, I could easily do so. Quickly.

But I don't, and _won_ _’t_.

“Okay what?” he rasps, voice tight.

“I believe you,” I say. Derek’s posture obviously goes relaxed in a fraction of a second, the tension seeping out from his muscles just as it did from mine, a few seconds ago.

“Thank fuck,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. Before he could open his eyes, I step into his space, directly in front of him, and coax him into a kiss. His arms immediately come to rest around me, and he takes some steps backwards until his back hits the wall. Derek leans against it, letting me invade his privacy, enjoying our proximity.

The kiss is slow and languid, unhurried, but this is what we both need now––some calm time squeezed in among the rushing days. I lean against him, letting him accommodate my entire weight. His broad palms roam over my back; in the end, one of them settles at the small of my back, while the other on my hip.

“Aren’t you going to help her?” I whisper, putting an inch of space between the two of us. The words are basically breathed right into his mouth.

“Are you kidding?” he asks, hand finding my scalp and fingers tangling in my hair that has been put up neatly with a pin again. I can tell Derek is deliberately messing with my strands so that I will have no other choice but to take the pin out and let my hair down again. “I told her it wasn't a good timing to me after all. So she left.”

I can’t help the grin.

Derek kisses it off of my face, kisses me breathless, just how he did for the last time before I left on Visiting Day. When he pulls his hand away from my nape, he has the grace to act like it wasn’t a deliberate act to ruin my hair.

“Whoops,” he says, giving me an apologetic look, but I don’t miss the way his eyes beam slyly, satisfied that he will see me with my hair free again. “We should take this out, don’t you think?” He forms it as a question, but it is rhetorical; the pin is out of my hair before I could do so much as _opening_ my mouth. I can feel the thick dark locks falling on my shoulders, engulfing them. I roll my eyes.

“Why are you so obsessed with my hair?”

“You look sexier and wilder with your hair let down,” he explains with an easy shrug, then adds, “More independent.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say, then push away from him and go to my suitcase. I can hear him following me.

“You can put your stuff in here,” Derek offers, walking to his drawer. “I don’t have too many clothes, so there are a lot of vacant places in here.”

“I know it was secretly reserved for me.”

“Did you really have to unveil my diabolical plan?” he asks jokingly, opting to play along with me. I giggle, then start packing my clothes in the drawer, next to his. I can be sure that my clothes will have Derek’s scent in them soon enough. He leaves me alone for the time being; I can hear him puttering in the kitchen, presumably preparing a meal. My heart flutters at the feeling—this is what it feels like to live with your significant other; taking care of and providing for each other.

It will be easy to get used to it.

I join him three minutes later. Derek is standing in front of the microwave oven, fingers drumming on the kitchen counter. I am wearing a pair of night blue shorts and a white tank top instead of my former formal outfit. I wrap my arms around his middle from behind, but I barely have time to rest my head against his back between his shoulder blades, because he turns around. As soon as his eyes land on me, he smiles widely. Derek rakes his fingers through my hair, making it just a touch more dishevelled that it was before.

“You look good,” he compliments. “I like seeing you this way better.”

“Figured,” I say, then take a step so that I am standing next to him at the counter. I duck down to see what he is heating.

“Leftover lasagne,” he informs. “It was a take out.”

“Want anything to it?” I ask.

“Anything?” he grins, cocking an eyebrow. I roll my eyes, but smile anyway.

“Like tea, coffee, or just water…?”

“Make it a coffee then,” he says, mustering a semi-hurt tone, accompanied by an exaggeratedly exasperated sigh. I know he is just putting on a show.

I start searching among the cupboards for the coffee beans. Once found, I pour some in the coffee maker and add some water to it, then grab two cups from one of the cupboards. When I turn, I can see Derek taking out the lasagne and serving it on two plates. He sets them on the dining table across from each other, then places two forks there, too.

“Come and eat,” he says, coaxing me to the table. “The coffee can wait.”

I do as he told me, and sit with him. The table isn’t big, so our legs tangle with each other when both of us is sat.

“You transferred here fast,” he says. I nod, not talking until I swallow the mouthful down.

“Yeah,” I agree. “Not everyone wants to come here to help you guys,” I say with a wink.

“Thank God that our system is flexible enough for this,” Derek says by way of a side note. I smile at him, then go back to consuming the food.

Once we are ready, Derek pours coffee for both of us; for the time being, I take care of our plates and silverware. With the steaming cups in hand, we migrate to the living-room where we sit on the couch. Derek swings an arm around my shoulders and pulls me flush to his side. I pull my legs up from the floor and take a sip.

“It’s awfully strong,” I point out. Derek snickers.

“You don’t like it?” I shake my head.

“No, I like it,” I assure him. “I just have to get used to it.”

“I recall you’ve always had a sweet tooth.”

“That, you’re right about,” I say, taking another tentative sip.

Derek opens his mouth to say something else, but there is a knock on the door. I look at him questioningly, but he just shrugs and goes to check who that is.

“Four,” Derek says by way of a greeting.

“Are you alone?” comes Four's voice. A second later, he strides into the living-room. His eyes immediately latch on to me.

“I can leave,” I offer, but Derek shakes his head as he enters.

“No,” he says, determined, leaving no room for budge. “Whatever you have to say to me, she can hear, too.” Four looks wary, his jaw working as he is considering whether it is a good idea or not to trust me, but then ends up saying, “Okay, she might be affected too, anyway.”

Derek’s eyebrows furrow in concern. “Affected by what?”

“The Erudite has transported a new dose of a substance. They say it’s for the fear landscapes, but I honestly doubt that.”

“The Erudite?” I chime in. “What are they doing?” Four looks at me, and for a second I think he is about to correct me for addressing the Erudite as though it wasn’t my faction, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Do you know anything about this?” he asks instead. I shake my head.

“Only that they are developing a new serum,” I say. “But it’s kind of a secret project—only those are allowed to work on it who follow Jeanine willingly, and who take her every word as gospel.”

“And you don’t.” That comes out of Four’s mouth as a statement, not a question.

“Of course she doesn’t,” says Derek, sounding a touch offended. “She’s always been skeptical. I’m guessing Jeanine doesn’t fancy those who she has no total control over.”

“I can try to get information for you,” I offer. “But I can't promise anything. If I ask too much, I'm going to become suspicious.”

“It isn’t likely either that they would share anything,” Four points out. “Since it’s a secret project for a reason, I imagine.” Derek and I nod in sync.

“I’ll see what I can do, though,” I insist.

“Thanks,” Four says, then, like he has just realized I am not supposed to be at Dauntless, he asks, “What are you doing here by the way? Are you a runaway maybe? Got tired of Erudite?”

“She’s here as a paramedic,” Derek answers before I could.

“Undercover agent?” Four asks, and I realize he is joking. I have never seen him do this. The corner of Derek’s mouth twitches, apparently to suppress a smile. They must be close friends, for them to allow themselves to be at such an ease around each other—both of them show a completely different exterior to everyone else in general.

“From now on, yeah,” Derek says in the end. Four looks among us once more, then heads towards the door after nodding us goodbye. However, he turns around at the doorway and says silently, “Careful, you two.”

Derek nods curtly, immediately understanding that Four is talking about our forbidden relationship.

“What is Erudite planning?” I ask as soon as the door is closed again, like Derek would possibly know the answer. I think briefly about talking to Stiles about it in person, but then I figure I shouldn't get him in trouble and unnecessary jeopardy.

Wielding too much information can easily get you killed.

I shiver at the though, then my eyes find a poster on the wall, across from the glass door of the balcony. It reads, “ _We believe in freedom from fear, in ordinary acts of bravery, in defending those who cannot defend themselves._ ” A piece of the Dauntless Manifesto.

Derek notices I am looking at it, but doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t have to—I know exactly what was left unsaid is something like, “You should have stayed.”

Abruptly, I stand, and approach the balcony and go out. The view from there is breathtakingly astonishing. The Sun is just dipping down the horizon, its bright red beams bleeding into the warm coloured sky. Soft breeze washes over my face, brushing my hair off of my shoulders. I put my hands on the rail, only to see two more joining mine, and a second later I can feel Derek’s warmth as he leans in close to me and rests his jaw on my shoulder. He entwines his fingers with mine and closes his—and my—arms around me, placing a kiss on my neck under my ear.

My eyes close on their own accord and I instinctively tilt my head to the side, baring my neck for Derek. I can feel the whole length of his body pressing against mine, and he is _everywhere_ , but it feels amazing, not overwhelming.

A minute later he goes back to resting his jaw on my shoulder, but doesn’t move otherwise, doesn’t let me go.

. o O o .

My first shift at Dauntless starts next day.

I wake with Derek, who only allows us leave the bed after a long, lazy morning kiss—I figure he is so touchy-feely now because of the fact we haven’t been together for long, and he can lay his hands on me since recently only, thus he can’t contain himself. I imagine he will leave this habit behind in less than a month.

But as for now, I am determined to enjoy it until it lasts.

He provides me a black sweatshirt, insisting I should wear it because I will be cold in the compound if I am not working out. It does make sense, so I don’t argue with him, just put it on. It is bigger than me, covering my hands except for my fingers, and the upper quarter of my thighs. I clip the plastic card on it, which has a picture of me on it, my name and my occupation here.

I notice Derek staring at it.

“What?” I ask, but he shakes his head.

He puts on clothes himself; a pair of trousers, a wife beater, a jacket and a pair of boots, all black of course. He helps me tie the bright blue cloth on my right upper arm, signing I am from a different faction. I complete my look with a pair of black trousers myself, and a pair of dark blue running shoes.

I put my hair in a diagonal dutch braid, laying it on my right shoulder, then I consider myself ready.

In the e-mail, I was instructed to look for the Erudite supervisor here, who will give me the first aid bag, and explain to me my task in depth. I kiss bye to Derek, then run out the door, leaving him behind. We both figured it will be for our own good if we keep away from others and stay under the radar.

It doesn’t take long for me to find the Erudite in Dauntless. There are only six of us, me included, who are there to supervise the physical initiation and the general workouts as medicals. I am told not to yell nor demand the end of a fight, even if it's malicious—that is Eric’s duty to do, and I _don_ _’t want to get on his bad side_ , said the Erudite leader to me, giving me a stern look. I got the message loud and clear.

My job is basically to sit at a far corner and keep an eye on the initiates in the rink. After they are done, I have to take care of their wounds, and that is the only time I am allowed to move, otherwise I must stay seated on the bench reserved for me.

More than one of the initiates are _taken_ to me by the others, because they were beaten unconscious. I give a disapproving look to Four, who just indicates Eric by moving his eyes in his direction. I decide to ask him later about this.

The first name I learn is Peter—he is by far the most vicious of all the initiates. He obviously wants to be the best of them all, and he is willing to do anything to get there. The last time, he nearly killed an Abnegation transfer, whose name I learned was Tris. I honestly adore the girl for making such a drastic decision; Abnegation and Dauntless probably have the starkest difference among all the factions. Her wounds are really bad; she has a haemorrhage under her eye, and many and much more bruises accompanied by several bleeding injuries.

I used to get these when I was younger, because I was too clumsy but nonetheless wanted to keep up with the others. Stiles was the same, but we found out we had a really unfortunate relationship with our physical environment soon enough. After then, we decided to bury our noses in books and do whatever _we_ wanted, not the others. We kind of had our own gang, independent and free from the rest of Dauntless. We were Dauntless on our own terms.

During lunch break, I approach Four at the table. He is sitting alone—there are people around him, but none of them is conversing with him; I am guessing because he intimidates everyone except for a few. I set my tray next to his, and he glances up at me. His eyebrows knit together as soon as his eyes land on the sweatshirt I am wearing, and he quietly says, “Careful with the clothes.”

“What’s up with Eric?” I ask, ignoring his comment. He drinks a few gulps of water, then shrugs.

“He’s the new leader,” Four answers. I give him a look.

“Yeah, I figured as much. Anything else?” I demand, and the corner of his mouth twitches.

“I’m starting to get what Derek likes about you so much.” I blink at him a few times, thrown aback, but then I remind myself he is just trying to avoid the subject. I keep insisting.

“I asked you about Eric, not about Derek and me,” I say pointedly. I make sure to lower my voice at the second part of the sentence. Four lets out an exasperated breath.

“Four years ago, when I was an initiate, Eric and I had some… dissidence,” he starts, however, before going on, he looks around to make sure there are no one within earshot. “There’s a guy called Max,” he says. “He wanted me to be the next leader, but then I met someone who advised me not to accept the offer, because they needed an empty-headed douche, not someone with individual thinking. It shouldn’t be hard for you to tell it was because they wanted someone who they can easily influence, and who will do whatever they tell him to.” I nod. It is practically the same reason why I am not part of the secret project at Erudite headquarters.

“Max asked us to come up with innovative ideas and what we could imagine Dauntless to be within a few years’ range. Eric’s offer was to make the initiation more brutal and harder to complete. I went against him, but I didn’t have as good ideas, so I had no chance to convince Max to forget about it. I also had no intentions of taking the role of the corrupt leader, so I chose to work in intelligence and annually be the supervisor of the initiates.”

I hum. Now I understand why it is okay this year to nearly end each other during initiation.

“And those who can’t complete the initiation…?”

“…are factionless,” Four finishes my thought.

“That is _insane_ ,” I say, and he just nods in agreement. He nods towards my plate and hisses, “Eat.” Before I could ask him what all this is about, Eric slides in next to him, wrapping an arm around Four’s neck as though they were the best buddies here.

“Who’s this chick you’re talking to?” he asks, eyes skimming through me. I stifle a shudder under his intense gaze. I am a Dauntless-born, and he sure isn’t. I shouldn’t be… _must_ not be afraid of him.

“(Y/N),” I say, nodding to him in a half-hearted greeting. He smirks.

“Oh yeah, now I remember you,” Eric says, stroking his chin with his fingers. There is a gleam in his eye what makes me irrationally anxious. I fight off the beginnings of a panic attack before it could occur. “You’re the new paramedic. Close enough?”

“It shouldn’t have been hard to read that from my card,” I say. If anything, that only makes him grin wider.

“I like you,” he says suddenly. “The first Erudite know-it-all who is here to take care of the weak.” I arch a brow.

“Am I supposed to consider myself privileged?” I can’t resist asking. Eric laughs, but the rational part of my mind is yelling at me not to let myself be fooled.

“You probably should,” he nods, then taps Four’s shoulder once or twice before he pushes off the bench and leaves us.

“Holy shit,” I say, my voice wavering now. Four shrugs and says, “Welcome to Eric’s reign.”

. o O o .

“We need to stop this,” is the first thing I say as soon as Derek arrives. After locking the door, he gives me a confused look.

“What? Why?” He steps directly in front of me, and reaches for my upper arms, grabbing both and tugging me closer to him, obviously concerned. “Don’t tell me it's still because of that girl. I _told you_ there was nothing—”

“I know,” I interrupt him. “It’s about Eric.” Derek’s eyebrows furrow.

“What about him?”

“Apparently he knows about pretty much everything that’s going on in Dauntless, and we… if he figures out we are together—which I’m sure he will, it’s just a matter of when, not if—we are going to be in trouble. Not only because we broke one of the major rules, but also because we are… Divergent,” I say silently, almost afraid to say the word aloud.

“What makes you think he—”

“He is an Erudite transfer, Derek,” I interject again. “I’m pretty sure he's here for a good reason, and he was chosen _for_ a good reason. I can imagine that Jeanine has the influence to establish her leadership here, too. Obviously she will do it through someone from her faction.” Realization dawns on his face, and his fingers go weak around my arms.

“That would… make sense,” he admits, swallowing in the middle of the sentence. “And if you’re right, it means there are going to be serious disasters here.”

“The initiates have to knock each other out cold,” I say. “They are this close to _killing_ each other, which initiation shouldn’t be about.”

Derek purses his lips into a thin line and averts his gaze, shooting it at the floor and looking at it like it personally offended him and now he wants to combust it with sheer force of will. His eyes frighten me also.

“Initiation will be over within two weeks’ of time,” Derek points out like that would solve anything. “The physical initiation is almost over, then come the fear landscapes.”

“For which the Erudite has already started transporting the new serum,” I remind him, and in an instant, both of his hands clench into fists. “Maybe I should go home, try to talk to someone, or get information out—”

“Are you nuts?” Derek snaps. It makes me shiver. “Don’t you think it would be a suicide mission? Especially because they would keep an extra eye on you because after transferring here you’re immediately returning to Erudite?”

I look away, and his posture changes; it goes softer, and his tone isn’t so hard any more around the edges. He mutters, “Sorry.” I shake my head.

“No, it’s nothing.”

Instead of arguing with me, he pulls me into a hug. He flattens his palm on the small of my back, while the other tangles in my hair and massages my scalp soothingly.

“I guess I’m just worried about you,” he says. “and I’m not used to feeling like this. For anyone. I’m not good with handling my emotions.”

I understand him. I have read a lot about psychology too, about different theories regarding people’s ability to control their cognitive skills, and Derek’s weakest must be connected to his feelings. I bury my face in his chest and grip his jacket on his back, pulling him closer to me.

“Probably I should go over some basic moves with you,” he says suddenly. I give him a confused look. He shrugs. “I’m betting you forgot how to fight, or at least have gotten out of practice. If anything is going to happen, I want the knowledge I can leave you alone because you are going to be safe anyway, even without my help.”

I see what he means, and it makes sense. I nod.

“Okay,” I say, taking a step back. “When do we start?”

He snickers. “Enthusiasm is radiating off of you.”

“That’s how I am,” I shrug. His only response is, “That’s what I like about you.”


End file.
